


Stays in Vegas

by kbs_was_here



Category: Glee
Genre: Accidental Marriage, F/F, Las Vegas, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbs_was_here/pseuds/kbs_was_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after high school, Quinn and Rachel wake up after a one night stand only to find out they can't remember some very important events from the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stays in Vegas

The sun.

The sun is stupidly bright and everywhere.

Quinn’s hand clamps over her eyes because the damn sun is exploding or something and she can’t see because it’s taking over everything. Like, encompassing the earth and destroying everything in its path.

It has to be.

Because her head is killing her.

She turns on her side and pulls the blanket up over her head. In addition to the supernova or whatever is happening outside, it’s absolutely freezing in her room, which seems totally backwards if the planet is being absorbed into a fiery star, but she’s not a scientist.

More importantly, her pillow feels weird.

Wait.

Because she’s not at home. She’s at the reunion.

Or, she was at the reunion. It’s over now. Mostly. There’s still an informal party at Puck’s place tonight, something for all the original New Directions kids over at his house. He moved out here to Vegas the year after graduation to become a blackjack dealer and has actually been doing pretty well for himself, playing in a “Rockers of the 80s” cover band on the nights he isn’t working the table games. She knows he sends Beth all kinds of casino swag from snow globes to custom chips with her name on them. She has no idea if the now twelve year old still thinks they’re cool or not.

Quinn finally risks braving the sunlight to take a look at the clock, because she’s supposed to meet Santana and Brittany around three to go shopping and maybe gamble a little. At least long enough to get a free bloody mary to help take the edge off of this hangover. The blanket folds down and she cracks an eye open to look at the clock on the nightstand, but the clock isn’t there. Which is weird, because she knows it was on the right side, because it’s the same side she keeps her glasses when she’s at home. Although, she can see everything just fine, which means she’s still wearing her contacts. She must have been too drunk to take them out, last night.

Oh god, last night. There was a lot of liquor, because Mike was showing off his Tom Cruise in Cocktail moves and Santana kept insisting they do shots.

She rolls over onto her other side, to see if she’s just totally turned around, given the jet lag and the drinking and the fact that her head is pounding, but someone else is in the bed.

Shit.

Wait.

Okay.

That would explain the missing clock and the contacts.

She went back to someone else’s room.

Actually, now that she thinks about it, these sheets feel awfully smooth against her skin. Because she’s completely naked and a quick assessment of the other body under the covers suggests they they’re naked, too. And that they’re a woman.

Oh god.

Rachel.

Quinn manages a quiet laugh, because she’s relieved that she isn’t absolutely losing it. She’s also glad the earth isn’t on a collision course with the sun, either. She’s hungover after a one night stand with someone who couldn’t possibly knock her up. And she’s in Vegas, so this is absolutely par for the course.

“Rach,” her voice is froggy, deeper than usual.

The smaller form shifts and the head of dark hair adjusts against the pillow. “Mm sleepin’...”

There’s really no need to force Rachel awake, just yet, so Quinn peels the covers away from herself and sits on the edge of the bed. The room’s much bigger than hers and looks to be in a different casino. Actually, if she’s with Rachel in Rachel’s room, they’re probably at Mandalay Bay, because Rachel’s still in the Vegas production of Mamma Mia until the end of the year. Which means the room is likely a suite, because it’s where she lives.

Quinn doesn’t really remember anything about the space. She hopes a shower will help and quietly moves toward the bathroom, leaving Rachel to sleep off her own hangover. While the water warms up, she’s not above rummaging through the medicine cabinet for some kind of painkillers. She finds a bottle of extra strength Advil next to a box of Benadryl. Next to that is a bottle of Chloraseptic and it’s then that she realizes the damn cabinet is alphabetized.

The mirror’s already beginning to fog up, but Quinn manages to catch a glimpse of a moderately sized hickey on the base of her neck. There are two more on her left breast and another on her stomach. She wonders if she left any on Rachel, but everything past the last round of Jager shots is all fog that isn’t ready to clear.

What she can recall are bits and pieces from earlier in the evening.

* * *

_“Quinn!” The bear hug Rachel gives her feels three times too strong to come from someone so slight. Maybe it just feels strong because Quinn’s already two drinks into the evening._

_“I saw you last night, you were incredible. But the security guy was a dick so I wasn’t able to wait.”_

_“I got your message and, I know, Carl is something of an ass. How was your drive, was it okay?”_

_“Yeah. It’s about five hours, not too bad.”_

_“I was thinking yesterday about how we’ve been living so close to each other for, what, a year? And this is the first time we’ve seen each other? But then Noah lives in town and I’ve seen him all of twice, so...” Rachel seems like she’s had a couple drinks herself, which isn’t a shock because it’s an open bar._

_“I know, I know. I wanted to get out sooner, but they have us working to promote the new series and it’s non-stop.”_

_“I can’t wait to see it. Though, honestly, I’m still so upset that the other one was cancelled. It was really good.”_

_“That’s so sweet of you.”_

_“I mean it!”_

* * *

She’s not sure if it’s the shower or the painkillers or both, but by the time she wraps herself in one of the big fluffy white towels, Quinn already feels better. There’s a soft knock on the door.

“You can come in. I’m decent. Sort of.”

The bathroom door pushes open and there’s Rachel, wrapped in a terrycloth robe that’s two sizes too big for her. “Good morning,” she offers.

“Morning.” Despite the hot shower, Quinn’s mouth is in desperate need of freshening up, so she asks, “You don’t happen to have a--”

Rachel points toward a drawer to her right. “In there.”

“-- spare toothbrush?” Sure enough, there are at least three unopened toothbrushes in the drawer, along with assorted other miniature toiletries. “You have a lot of unexpected overnight guests?” Quinn asks, her right eyebrow arching up.

“You’re the one who needs it,” Rachel mumbles from around her own mouthful of toothpaste.

“Touche.” Quinn leans against the counter and brushes her teeth alongside Rachel, amused at the mundane quality of this particular morning after.

* * *

_“Shut up, you did not!”_

_“I did!” Rachel has to shout to be heard over the music of the band, which is comprised of their collective ex-boyfriends and a couple other people they don’t know._

_“You’re a liar. You were all about Finn and that’s all you ever talked about.”_

_“Yes. I was content with Finn, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have a crush on you. Besides you were hyperfocused on getting out of there. You wouldn’t have cared.”_

_“You can’t be serious.” Quinn shakes her head and takes a deep drink of her vodka and cranberry. She almost didn’t come to this thing, this New Directions reunion, because she has no idea who most of the people here even are. But then, she’d known Rachel would be there._

_“Am I wrong?”_

_“No, you’re right about me wanting out, but... Rach, I spent two hundred bucks on Metro passes. So we could see each other. I just thought it was one-sided, so I never said anything.”_

_“Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”_

_“I’m not! It’s why I didn’t want to come to your stupid wedding!”_

_“I thought it was because you wanted me to succeed without Finn dragging me down.”_

_“That, too.”_

_Rachel’s eyes are bright as she looks up at Quinn and it’s then that Quinn realizes just how close they’re standing. Maybe it’s just because of the music, so they can hear each other over the strains of the Foreigner cover that’s blaring through the reception hall._

_“So, you’re saying that this whole time, it would have been absolutely okay for me to...”_

_It’s not until the final chorus of “Feels Like the First Time” that Quinn finally pulls her lips away from Rachel’s and says, “Yeah,” before pressing their mouths back together and groaning at the feeling of Rachel’s tongue against her own._

* * *

Quinn can’t find her underwear. It’s not in the bedroom.

“Maybe you took them off in the cab,” Rachel suggests.

“I would never--” Quinn’s ears are red at the implication, but then she isn’t even sure if she can rule it out. “Did we take a cab?”

“I... have no idea.” Rachel’s dressed in a casual skirt and tank top, no polka-dots or animals to be seen on either of them. She looks rather elegant for someone who just rolled out of bed less than twenty minutes ago.

Quinn’s in her dress from the previous night, shoes in hand, and still missing one last piece of her wardrobe. “Were we... in here for... everything?”

Rachel’s about to shrug, but stops herself. “Actually, no.” She exits the bedroom into the rest of the suite. “Aha!” she calls from the living room.

“Found them?”

“Yes.”

“Do I want to know where?”

“That’s up to--”

“Rach?”

“Uh, Quinn?”

Quinn figures she might as well just find out, because it’s not like it’s a secret she and Rachel obviously had some kind of wild night together. Honestly, she’s open to exploring it and seeing where it goes, because they have a mutual interest in each other and what could have been inevitable disaster is going rather smoothly, as far as she’s concerned.

Her panties are on the coffee table, next to a piece of paper. “Great. Right next to your... what is that, the room service bill?”

“Technically, they were on top of it and... it’s... not a room service bill.” Rachel picks up the paper and hands it to Quinn.

Quinn’s eyes scan the page and while she immediately knows what she’s looking at, it’s not until she gets halfway down the page that it hits her.

“... join in lawful wedlock Rachel Barbra Berry of New York, New York... and L. Quinn Fabray of Echo Park, California...”

“Holy shit.” Quinn drops onto the couch. “We... no... this has to be a joke. Puck... or Santana.”

“I think I need to call my publicist.”

“Yeah, me too.”

* * *

“Okay, so...” Evan, Rachel’s publicist, looks out the window as he considers what to do. “Obviously,” he says, as he turns around to look at Rachel, then at Quinn, “an annulment, right? It happened late at night, no one of note saw you, and even if they did... it’s not even scandal worthy. Two old friends reconnecting... Britney’s done it twice...”

Rachel and Quinn sit next to each other on the couch, looking something like a couple in a therapy session.

Evan picks up the paper and examines it. “Actually... this is just the marriage certificate from the chapel. Did you even file for a license?” Both women shrug. “You,” his finger’s extended at Rachel, “know better than to touch Jager after the Zac Efron incident. I need to make a phone call.”

He steps out onto the balcony and shuts the sliding door behind him.

Quinn jabs her elbow into Rachel’s arm. “What’s the Zac Efron incident?”

“Ow!” Rachel scrunches up her nose and returns the gesture, but Quinn grabs her arm and pulls her closer.

“Tell me.”

Rachel’s still firmly in Quinn’s grip, but she holds onto her resolve as she stares back at Quinn. “Or what?”

“Or...” This is the closest they’ve been all morning and Quinn feels electric, alive, with Rachel in her space like this. Her head draws even closer to Rachel’s, but ducks away at the last moment, leading her lips to press against Rachel’s ear. “Tell me.” She doesn’t give a shit about Zac Efron, at this point. She just wants to keep playing this game, whatever it is.

Rachel groans and that just makes Quinn lean into her more. “There was a... um... topless incident at a birthday party.”

The news forces Quinn to sit up. “Wait, I heard about that from my hair and make-up crew. That was you?”

“Yes,” Rachel sighs, throwing herself against the back of the couch.

“You didn’t marry anyone that night, did you?”

One of the throw pillows hits Quinn square in the chest. “You just never want me marrying anyone but you, apparently.”

The glass door to the balcony slides open and Evan steps back into the living room. “All right, you somehow managed to also file for the license, so the marriage is legitimate but an annulment is possible since you were both intoxicated to the point where you don’t even recall giving consent. Quinn, I have Luke on the phone right here...”

The voice of Luke, Quinn’s own publicist, crackles through Evan’s phone. “I’m with Evan on this, Q. Just undo it and leave it at that.”

“It’ll probably hit a couple columns, but if we nip it now, no one’s really going to care,” Evan explains. “So, I’ll just get the ladies down to sign the paperwork and--”

“What if we don’t want to?” Rachel asks.

Even Quinn gives her a double take. “What?”

“Until we know why we did it, I don’t know that I want to just forget about it.”

“Rach, we got drunk, we’re in Vegas and we probably did it because you saw it in a movie once. And then we came back here and had what was probably incredible sex because, well, I’m honestly a little bit sore and--”

“Uh... I totally have you on speakerphone at the office,” Luke’s voice reminds her.

Quinn rubs her hand over her eyes. “I’m just saying it probably just happened.”

“Okay, sure. Maybe I mentioned it because we were living out some kind of Vegas fantasy package. But Quinn, I know we haven’t been close in years, but I also know you’ve never been someone who just does something without having a reason.”

“We were drunk,” Quinn repeats, but she knows Rachel has a point.

“Can’t we just take a day or two to let everything settle? I just want to know why we did it.”

“I don’t advise it,” Evan says. “However, if you two do decide to wait until tomorrow, please just keep it between yourselves.”

“I’m with Evan on this,” adds Luke’s voice. “Call me when there’s a decision.”

* * *

The only immediate decision that’s made is one for room service. Rachel has her usual breakfast spread sent up, fruit and juice, with the addition of a whole grain waffle for Quinn. Or, it’s supposed to be for Quinn, but Rachel ends up eating half of it.

“Get your own!”

“Half of it is mine, we’re married. We didn’t sign a pre-nup.”

“How come Evan wasn’t pissed off about that part?”

“Because he’s not my lawyer.”

“Crap, mine’s going to be so mad. Or, he won’t because we’re not staying married.”

“So, you don’t want to be married to me?”

Quinn bites through a chunk of cantaloupe. “Last night was our first kiss. Marriage just seems a little quick.”

“Well, one of us thought it was a good idea and the other agreed.”

“Maybe it was just a ploy to get the other one into bed.”

They’re still sitting on the couch, their makeshift breakfast buffet laid out on the coffee table.

“Do you really think we had incredible sex last night?” Rachel asks.

Quinn still has the other half the melon between her fingers, until Rachel leans over and casually pulls Quinn’s hand toward her mouth and takes the remaining bite for herself. Quinn’s eyes are on Rachel the entire time.

“I... certainly feel like I did.”

“So maybe we should start there and work our way back.” Rachel’s already climbing over Quinn, pushing her back against the arm of the sofa.

“Everything about this is... absolutely... ass backwards,” Quinn says.

Rachel’s on top of Quinn, now, knees on either side of Quinn’s thighs. “I get a lot of compliments about my ass, so that’s good.”

Quinn’s hands find themselves seeking out the topic of conversation and they’re almost immediately pressed against the back of Rachel’s skirt, holding her in place. “What do you think we did first?”

“I don’t know, but it ended up with your panties on the table.”

Quinn hands grip more tightly and Rachel squirms against her. “This hardly seems like the right position for that to happen.”

“Maybe it didn't happen right away,” Rachel suggests as she lowers herself until her nose nudges against Quinn's. “Maybe we had an agenda.”

“You always have an agenda.”

“I like being pre--” One of Quinn's hands abandons its position on Rachel's ass and hooks around the back of her neck, bringing their lips together as Rachel mumbles the rest of her syllables into Quinn's mouth.

Rachel's hands are braced against the arm of the couch, which is handy because when Quinn arches up, she uses the leverage to rock herself back down against her. Quinn's fingers tangle in brunette hair as her tongue moves against Rachel's, as she explores her mouth, this time with the full knowledge that she's going to remember all of this, after the fact.

Her hand drifts down to Rachel’s back and pulls her more tightly against her own body. Once Rachel settles along the length of her, Quinn shifts her legs so they're tangled together, her thigh pressing up under Rachel's skirt. There's a damp warmth waiting for her there and she can feel it against her skin. Knowing she turns her on this much causes Quinn to whimper, though it’s absorbed into the kiss.

Quinn pulls Rachel against her, again, causing a low groan from the woman on top of her. There’s a responding sound from Quinn herself because Rachel’s leg has worked its way up Quinn now hiked-up skirt.

“Quinn...”

“Hmm?”

“Did you ever put your underwear back on?”

Quinn smirks against Rachel’s lips. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m going to need another shower.” Rachel's lips drag away from Quinn's and hover over the spot where there's already a very visible hickey. “I think we both will.”

There's a long, drawn-out roll of Rachel's hips and Quinn's head is thrown back, her mouth open as her eyes fall shut. Quinn's body responds, meeting Rachel's with each undulating movement, and they're soon both panting for air, chests heaving.

Rachel's tank top has inched up enough that Quinn's fingers are digging into her bared lower back. Quinn's hips lift up off the couch to make contact with Rachel's leg, their rhythm becoming more frantic as Rachel forces her head back up to kiss Quinn again.

“Are you--” Quinn mumbles.

“--almost,” Rachel replies, her forehead dropping down to Quinn’s shoulder.

Quinn’s been on the brink for a couple of minutes and knowing Rachel’s about to come is just about enough to push her over, but it’s not until it’s coupled with the realization that it also means she’s about to get her wife off, that Quinn pushes herself up against Rachel one final time before she cries out, trying to bury the sound in Rachel’s neck so whoever’s next door doesn’t call the police or hotel management or whoever responds to noise complaints.

They’re both covered in a sheen of sweat as they lie there, Rachel wrapped around Quinn, the both of them taking in the sound of the other’s breathing.

“I guess I do want to know,” Quinn finally says, her eyes closed as she breathes in the scent of Rachel’s shampoo.

Rachel’s head pops up, one eye squinting as she looks at Quinn. “Hmm?”

“I guess I want to know why we did it.” Especially if Rachel’s going to look that incredibly adorable after sex. Not that they have to be married for that to happen, but... “I at least want to know who asked first. And why you didn’t get me a ring.”

“Uh, you didn’t get me a ring.”

“Maybe you lost it.”

“You’re the one who lost your panties.”

“I didn’t lose them. They were on the table.”

“Still not sure how that happened.”

“Guess we’d better keep investigating.”

Though, Quinn has to wonder, what if they find out it really didn’t mean anything? Or that it was a prank?

Everything’s upside-down and she isn’t sure she wants it any other way.

* * *

Quinn's in the middle of her second shower of the morning when Rachel knocks on the door. "Yeah?" It's funny, the suddenly modesty of the moment. "Rach, you can come in."

"I wasn't sure," Rachel says, stepping into the steamy space. "You used to be kind of..."

"A prude?" Quinn asks, wiping away the fog on the glass of the shower door, just for the chance to glare at Rachel.

"Modest."

Rachel isn't wrong and Quinn still isn't really one to parade around naked or anything, but this is different. "We just had honeymoon sex on your couch. I think it's okay."

"I wasn't coming in to leer at you, anyway. Your phone keeps ringing."

"Who is it?"

"I'm not your secretary."

"No, but you're nosy."

Rachel scoffs in protest, but then concedes, "It's your publicist."

Quinn shuts off the water and slides the door open just enough to peer out at Rachel. "Will you hand me my towel, please?" There's a moment of hesitation, as if Rachel's deliberating whether or not she wants to pass her the towel, which just makes Quinn impatient. "Rachel."

"If we really did it for a good reason, are you actually okay with it?" Rachel finally passes the oversized bath sheet to Quinn's waiting hand.

"I said I wanted to find out, didn't I?"

"That's not the same as wanting to stay married to me."

Quinn wraps herself up and steps out onto the bathroom floor. "I don't know. I..." She takes a long look at the woman in front of her, still disheveled from their encounter on the couch. "We obviously have something, I just don't know if that means we should... I mean, do you have any idea how much we much have been drinking for both of us to have blacked out that much from last night?"

"I know." Rachel edges past Quinn and turns the shower back on. "I had one of the boutiques from downstairs send up a handful of options. I personally think the blue one would look stunning on you. But that’s just my opinion."

Quinn leaves Rachel to her shower and rubs a towel over get hair as she surveys the dresses that are laid out on Rachel's bed. They’re all lightweight summer dresses, which is just what she needs given that it’s June and they’re in the middle of the Nevada desert. She considering opting for the red one, because it’s a power color and because it’s not the one Rachel suggested.  

Except Rachel’s totally right about the blue one.

Once Quinn’s dressed, she picks up her iPhone. Four missed calls and an email, all from Luke. She hits the most recent call and hits send.

"God, finally," he says.

"I thought we all agreed that this could wait until tomorrow."

"I'm not trying to pressure you and the new missus, I just wanted to let you know what a fucking lucky bitch you are.”

Quinn perches on the edge of Rachel’s bed, her ankles crossed in front of her. “I can’t believe I pay you fifteen percent to talk to me like this.”

“And let me tell give you three reasons why you’re a fucking lucky bitch.”

“I’m on my honeymoon, make it quick.”

“One: You’re lucky HBO is the parent company to the network and so this was sent over to LOGO and not to TMZ.”

“What was sent?”

“Well, it seems that you and the radiant Ms. Berry couldn’t just hail a regular cab or even call for a limo. Hell, you couldn’t even just flash a panty shot or a nip slip on the way out of a club. Instead, you two managed to get into the Taxicab Confessions car, immediately following your nuptial ceremony.”

“We did what?” Quinn’s shaking with laughter, because this is so insanely ridiculous.

“Fortunately, they can’t even use any of the footage because the names signed to the consent form were Charlotte Bronte and Michelle Obama.”

“Oh my god.”

“At least you managed to cover your own drunk ass on that one. The footage is in your inbox.”

“What was number three? You said there were three reasons.”

“Yeah... the third one is that you two are so sickeningly adorable together, if it does leak, it’ll get nothing but positive spin. Behave yourself.”

The video is only four minutes long, but it contains a wealth of information about the previous night.

* * *

_“Rach. Rach. Come on. Get in.” Quinn leans forward, toward the open window that separated the front from the back of the cab. “She’s doing pictures with someone,” she informs the cab driver._

_“Someone famous?” asks the cabbie._

_“Oh, she is. She’s in shows. We’re going to the... um... Rach! What’s it called? Oh, wait. No... I know it. Not the, um, pyramid but the... other one.”_

_“Mandalay Bay?” the driver offers._

_“Yes!”_

_Rachel stumbles into the backseat of the cab, landing on Quinn’s lap. “They said they love me more than the one... what’s her name... the one who was doing it before me. They’ve seen me seven times!”_

_“You should kiss me seven times,” Quinn suggests, looping her arms around Rachel._

_“How long have you two been together?”_

_“We just got married!” Rachel exclaims, raising her hand up in the air, but her ring immediately flies off of her finger and drops to the floor. “Oh!” She disappears out of sight of the camera as she gropes for it._

_“We’ve known each... um, we went to high school together back... before,” Quinn explains. “In Ohio.”_

_“And now you’re married here in Vegas.”_

_“Yes!” Rachel pops back up, ring in hand. “You should put it back on me,” she says, handing it to Quinn._

_Quinn takes Rachel’s hand in her and concentrates on the task of sliding the ring back onto Rachel’s finger. “You have really small hands.” Once it’s on, she laces her fingers with Rachel’s._

_“Do you two still live in Ohio?” the cabbie asks, glancing at them in the rearview._

_“Oh, no.” Rachel grandly waves their connected hands in the air. “We left. We... we said, we’re on our way to other places. She lives in California and I live here, but really I live in New York.”_

_“You live here and in New York?”_

_“Well, yes,” Rachel says, her tone suggesting that, of course she lives in both places. “I’m working here until later and then I go back after I’m done.”_

_“And what is it you do?”_

_“We-- OH! We have to stop here!” Rachel taps on the side of the divider that separates the car. As the car slows to a stop, she reaches for the handle, but Quinn pulls her back._

_“Hold on, we still have to p--”_

* * *

“Oh my god,” Rachel says. She’s wrapped up in her robe, again, sitting next to Quinn on the bed as she watches the video. It’s Quinn’s second viewing, Rachel’s first. “I think I remember the guy and his wife who wanted the picture. But... where did we stop?”

“Bellagio,” Quinn says, the memory suddenly flooding back to her.

* * *

_The fountains in front of the Bellagio hotel and casino are in the middle of one of their famed water shows, arcs and sprays of water, lit by colored lights and set to the music of several Vegas standards and showtunes. Currently, the song in play is Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On and Rachel’s quick to jump in on the chorus with absolutely no shame. She sounds incredible, even if she needs Quinn to help her stand up straight. Actually, they need each other to be upright at all._

_At the song’s finale, Rachel dramatically flings her arms up in the air and her ring, once again, flies off her finger. Quinn’s lucky enough to see it happen and it bounces on the ground a few feet away, but then it rolls... and rolls... right between an opening in the railing before it drops into the water._

_“No!” Rachel scrambles after it, but it’s too late. She leans over the top of the railing as she peers down into the dark water. “Maybe I can get it.”_

_Quinn slaps a hand on Rachel’s back and grabs a handful of her dress. “No way. It’s...”_

_“I lost my wedding ring and we havent’ even been married an hour,” Rachel pouts._

_“Hey, no...” Quinn pulls Rachel to her and clumsily brushes Rachel’s hair away from her face. “It’s okay. It was the wrong ring, anyway. It didn’t fit.” There’s also the concern that the rings provided by the chapel might turn their fingers green, so Quinn doesn’t really consider it a huge loss. “Here...” She frees her own ring from her left hand and over hands it out into the water. “Now they’re together.”_

_“What are you-- You don’t want to be married to me?”_

_Quinn presses a finger against Rachel’s lips. “I do. We are. Married. Just... tomorrow... we’re getting real rings that fit.” She drags her hand down and pokes at Rachel’s chest. “You’re my wife and you deserve a ring that’s... that fits.”_

* * *

“So, you owe me a ring,” Rachel says, patting Quinn on the knee before she pushes herself up off the bed.

“I’m pretty sure you owe me one, too.”

“You threw yours.”

“As a gesture.”

“I have a gesture for you.” Rachel doesn’t get a chance to show it, however, because Quinn tackles her to the bed. “These are brand new clothes!” she shouts.

“You’re wearing a robe,” Quinn points out.

“Not on me, under us.” Quinn has Rachel pinned down, and Rachel takes the opportunity to take in the sight above her. “You went with my suggestion.”

“I picked the one that looked best.”

“The one that’ll look best on my floor.”

“Rachel!”

“You’re the one mounting me.”

Quinn can’t really argue, so she releases Rachel and flops down next to her. “We know what happened after the wedding, but I still can’t seem to remember how we got there in the first place.”

“Maybe we should ask our witness.”

“That’s... a good idea.” Quinn remembers the name that was scrawled in the witness section of the marriage certificate. It’s the same name that’s been in her cell phone contacts since she was fourteen.

Brittany Pierce.

* * *

They’re meeting Brittany at New York, New York, though the only specification she gave Quinn about where to find her was “down in the city part,” but Rachel quickly determines that she must mean the area of the casino that’s dressed up to looks like a backlot version of a New York neighborhood. Sure enough, they find Brittany sitting at a table outside of a pizzeria, sunglasses over her eyes and a newspaper opened in front of her.

“Are you on a stakeout?” Rachel asks, looking around before she lowers herself into the chair next to her.

“No, I just like wearing these to read.” Brittany pushes the sunglasses up on top of her head and folds the paper in half. “We only have about twenty minutes, because then I have to go back to Santana’s blackjack table and pretend I’m a German tourist.”

Quinn pulls out the chair opposite Rachel and sits. “Are you guys card counting, again?”

“No, it’s just fun.” Brittany takes a moment to reflect on her surroundings. “I like it here better than real New York. They bring you free drinks and it doesn’t smell like pee.”

Rachel bristles at the jab. “New York doesn’t smell like--”

“Rach.” Quinn puts her hand on Rachel’s arm from across the table. “Now’s not the time.”

“Sorry.” Rachel regains her composure and smiles at Brittany. “What can you tell us about last night?”

“Sugar punched a stripper.”

Quinn can tell Rachel’s about to ask for more details, but she knows that once Brittany gets sidetracked, they might not get her back on topic before they have to say aufedersein. “What can you tell us about the wedding?”

“Oh, well I was drunk for all of it. But so were you.”

“You don’t remember anything about it?” Rachel asks.

Brittany shrugs. “Not really. Well, I remember the part where Quinn kept saying she was going to f--”

“--I think I might remember that part, thank you.”

Quinn rests her head in her hands. She should have known better, because this seemed way too easy. “Was anyone else there?”

“Of course there was. The guy playing the organ and the minister. And the photographer. The organ guy was really good. I kind of want to go back and see if he does requests.”

Rachel perks up. “There was a photographer?”

“Uh, yeah. How else do you think you filled up your wedding album?”

Quinn’s head raises back up. “There’s wedding album? We didn’t see one.”

“Well, duh. You left it with me.” Brittany leans down and pulls a photo album out of her bag. She lays it out on the table in front of them.

The white cover has “Our Wedding at the World Famous Chapel of the Bells, Since 1957” stamped on the front in gold lettering. In the center is an inserted photo of Rachel and Quinn engaged in a kiss. Both Quinn and Rachel just stare at it, so Brittany flips it open to the first and only page, where four pictures are paneled. The couple looks completely inebriated but also incredibly happy. There are also some particular liberties that seem to have been taken.

“Is that...” Quinn leans down to get a better look. “Did you draw a mustache on me?”

“Mmhmm. I think the top hat makes you look like Mr. Peanut. My favorite is the one where Rachel is a pirate.” Brittany says, tapping the second photo that features Rachel with a black marker eyepatch and pegleg, her left hand holding a carefully drawn cutlass.

“And this--” Now Quinn’s snatching up the album and poking at another picture. “What did you do to my stomach?”

Brittany shrugs. “Santana did it, because I said I wanted to remember what you looked like pregnant. Look, she even added the stretch marks. And wings.”

“I can’t even talk to you, right now.” Quinn relinquishes possession of the book to Rachel, who studies each and every image.

"It's not my fault you had a boring wedding. I wanted you to get the Snoop Dogg package, but you didn’t listen."

“He does.” Rachel says, tapping her finger against the bottom right photo. “He does do requests.” On the right side of the frame is the organist. “Because I asked him to play--”

* * *

_“And now, in honor of my devotion and commitment to my beautiful bride, I’d like to sing the Grammy award winning single as performed by Ms. Bette Midler, from the motion picture soundtrack of the 1988 film, Beaches.”_

* * *

“You’re the wind beneath my freaking wings,” Quinn groans, her hand pressed over her eyes at the memory. “You sang The Wind Beneath My Wings at our wedding. Oh my god.”

“If you’d listened to me, maybe she would have sang Gin and Juice, instead.”

“I sang it as an expression of sentiment to you, Quinn. And, for the record, it’s been covered by a number of notable artists, including Patti LaBelle, John Tesh, Willie Nelson, Judy C--”

“We’re supposed to be looking for reasons to stay married, not finding grounds for divorce.”

“Annulment,” Rachel corrects.

"You two should stay married," says Brittany as she folds up her newspaper and stuffs it in her bag.

Quinn takes another look at the photos. "You really think so?"

"Look how happy you both are."

"We look wasted." Quinn sees what Brittany's talking about, but she still can't ignore the fact that it could have all just been a drunken joke.

"That just means you didn't let you big Puritan brain get in the way of your own happiness. That's what San thinks, anyway. Plus, I really want you two to stay together because otherwise I owe her twenty bucks."

Quinn's genuinely offended. "Santana bet against us?"

"She said you'd sober up and go back to making hamburger eyes at each other instead of talking about your feelings. I told her that didn't make any sense because Rachel thinks cows are sacred."

“I’m a vegan out of compassion for animals, not because of religious reasons,” corrects Rachel, but Brittany isn’t even listening.

“When you two decide to have a baby, let me know, I want to be there.” Brittany picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder before standing up. “For the birth. Not that part where you make it. That’s personal. And I’ll see you tonight at Puck’s.” She slips her sunglasses back on and walks away, leaving Quinn and Rachel alone at the table.

“She can’t be serious,” Rachel says.

Quinn just shrugs, but she’s known Brittany long enough to know that, buried under all the non-sequiturs, she’s usually right.

* * *

They call Rachel’s usual driver and ask her to take them to the Chapel of the Bells. Maybe visiting the scene of the crime will help their recollection, though the photos have already explained a lot about the actual ceremony.

It’s not until Rachel gently places her hand in Quinn’s that Quinn re-considers what Brittany said about how happy they look in the pictures. Here they are in the back of a towncar, fingers interlocked as they sit in comfortable silence, and it feels right.

They’ve gotten married, they’ve slept together, they’ve brushed their teeth in front of each other... a lot of the awkward steps are already out of the way. But, does that really mean this is right for them?

Rachel hums something as she watches the Strip pass by out the window. Quinn closes her eyes to listen for a moment, then cracks one eye back open.

“Are you... is that what I think it is?”

Rachel smirks and sings, “Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back, with my mind on my money and my money on my mind.”

“You’re absolutely absurd.”

“My second year at NYADA, I had a roommate that was very into nineties west coast rap.”

“What else don’t I know about you?” Quinn’s suddenly very curious.

Rachel considers the question, then says, “My family watches Waiting to Exhale every Thanksgiving because it’s the only movie everyone can agree on.”

“Like a year after my parents divorced, my mom got really obsessed with True Blood, she went to a cast appearance at a comic book store in Toledo and got a picture taken with the guy who plays Jason Stackhouse and totally framed it and kept it next to her bed for, like, years.”

“That’s not really a detail about you, but it’s incredibly fascinating.”

“I thought about buying a an abandoned storage unit like they do on Storage Wars, just to see if I’d find anything good.”

“You should do that.” Rachel shifts and leans against Quinn. “We should do that.”

“What, like now?”

“Or tomorrow. When do you have to go back?”

“Two days.” The realization of it hits Quinn and she sighs. “Rach, you live in New York. I live in Los Angeles. How would we even make this work? I mean, if we decided to try.”

“Well, I don’t think we’d plan on keeping everything from the unit. We’d sell it.”

“I’m not talking about the stup--”

Rachel’s lips are on hers and she’s slightly dazed when she realizes the kiss is over and Rachel is actually saying something. “I know. And, yes, it’s more than likely that tomorrow, we’ll go sign the paperwork and chalk all of this up to an inebriated incident that ultimately didn’t mean anything. But for right now, can we just...”

It’s just putting off the inevitable, but that’s what Vegas is about, right? Honoring the moment and forgetting about tomorrow, even if you can’t remember the night before?

“Yeah,” she says. “We can.”

* * *

“Oh! I am so glad you two came back!” Even with her lazy eye and smoker’s voice, Jeannette’s excitement is unmistakable.

Jeannette’s been the wedding planner at the Chapel of the Bells for over ten years. Quinn knows this because it says so on the laser printed certificate in the standard Staples frame on the wall behind the cashier’s counter.

“I generally, as a rule, don’t do this, but I’m such a fan of Lore’s Lore that I was kicking myself for not asking you for a photo, last night. And you two were so wrapped up in each other, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Lore’s Lore was a short-lived supernatural series that starred L. Quinn Fabray and Thomas Dekker as a pair of young horror novelists who based their books on actual encounters in their lives. It was marketed as Murder She Wrote for the Fangoria crowd, but it only ran for two and a half seasons before ending in cancellation. The fanbase was small but emphatic, so it wasn’t unusual for Quinn in encounter someone like Jeannette.

“Oh, of course. I... it’s always nice to hear that people still enjoy the show,” Quinn says.

Jeannette hands her cellphone to Rachel, the camera application already active on the screen. “I was vice president of the letter writing campaign to get you guys back on the air, but...”

“Smile,” Rachel says before trapping her bottom lip between her teeth in an effort to avoid bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

The camera flashes.

“Can we do another?” Jeannette asks. “I just want to make sure my eyes weren’t closed.”

Quinn can’t help but nod. “... yes.”

It seems that Jeannette is satisfied with the second photo and Quinn assumes that’s the end of the meet and greet, but then she’s presented with an 8x10 of the same photo that’s on the front of her own wedding album. “Would you sign it? For the wall?” Jeannette waves to Rachel. “You, too, sweetie. I know you’re a big singer and all and... I don’t mean to be fawning all over your new bride, but I’m--”

“Please, go ahead. When I met Celine, I practically did the same thing.” Rachel waits for Quinn to finish with the Sharpie, then neatly signs her name, complete with a star flourish underneath.

Quinn stares down at the picture and imagines how it’s going to look on the wall among the other impromptu celebrity wedding photos. “You realize Evan and Luke are going to hate this, right?”

“I don’t care,” Rachel says, gazing up at Quinn. “And you want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I just remembered something from last night.”

* * *

_“Okay,” Quinn waves her shot glass in the air as she proposes this next thought. “Name... name a thing you didn’t do in high school that... you wish you’d done.”_

_“I’m still proud of my animal sweaters so...” Rachel shakes her head. “It’s not that. No regrets for Mr. Owl sweater vest.”_

_“I’m waiting...”_

_“I’m thinking!”_

_Quinn tosses back her shot then slams the glass back on the table. “Stop stalling.”_

_“Fine. I sometimes wonder what it would have been like to lose my virginity to Jesse instead of Finn.”_

_“Oh, that’s so good.”_

_“I almost did, you know.”_

_“But then you saved it for--”_

_“I wasn’t saving it for him, necessarily.”_

_“I need another drink.”_

_“What’s yours?”_

_“Something Puck calls the Big Daddy Slammer.”_

_“Not the drink, the thing... the thing you wish you’d done.”_

_“Oh. Um...” Quinn actually blushes and shakes her head. “It’s...”_

_“Prom queen?” Rachel guesses._

_“What? No. I mean, I wanted it then. Oh my god, I wanted it... but no, I was thinking... don’t laugh...”_

_“I promise.”_

_“... I wish I’d interrupted your stupid wedding to Finn. Like in a movie. Like in The Graduate.”_

_“We didn’t even end up getting married.”_

_“I know, but I wanted to stop it. With a... grand gesture kind of thing.”_

_“You got hit by a truck. That’s kind of a big deal.”_

_“Yeah, but that wasn’t on purpose.”_

_“You’re laughing!”_

_“No, I’m not.”_

_“Yes, you are!”_

_“It’s kind of funny. I mean, you got hit by a truck and it stopped my wedding.”_

_“I was so glad that you didn’t marry him.”_

_“I don’t think we’d still be married, even if we had.”_

_“Good. He would have been a terrible husband.”_

_“Weren’t you going to marry him, originally?”_

_“Just to--” Quinn stops herself, but then realizes it doesn’t matter. “--to keep him from marrying you.”_

_“Quinn?”_

_“What?”_

_“Why?”_

_“Why what?”_

_“Nothing... well, I just used to wonder if it... I kind of had a crush on you for a while.”_

_“Shut up, you did not!”_

_"I did!"_

_"You're a liar. You were all about Finn and that's all you ever talked about."_

* * *

“I remember that part,” Quinn says. They’re back in the car, having told Jeannette they just wanted to stop by to thank her for being so professional the previous evening and then ducking out before she was able to ask Quinn to record her outgoing voicemail message. “We weren’t that drunk, yet. And... that’s right about the time you kissed me.”

“I know. And that wasn’t what I just remembered, it’s the lead-in for what happened later.”

* * *

_“Are you sure about this?”_

_“Please, you two have been making out for the last twenty minutes.”_

_Quinn ignores Santana’s commentary and just waits until Rachel nods. “Where do you want it?”_

_Rachel pulls her hair away from her neck and tilts her head to the side. “Here.”_

_Quinn just stares at the span of skin until Santana pokes her in the back and says, “Jesus, keep your lady boner in your pants, Q.”_

_“Shut up.” Quinn grabs the salt from Santana’s hand and closes the space between herself and Rachel, who’s now holding a lime between her teeth. She hasn’t done body shots like this since college, but she certainly hasn’t forgotten how._

_Quinn leans down and drags her tongue over the space just above Rachel’s collarbone, then shakes some of the salt onto it, trying to be careful not to dump any of it down the front of her dress, though that means she’s paying particular attention to Rachel’s cleavage, which earns her another jab in the back._

_“Lick it now, stick it later, I don’t care, just hurry up.”_

_“Santana...”_

_“I’ll shut up when you take this shot.” Santana presses the small glass into Quinn’s hand._

_Rachel hasn’t moved. Mostly. Her body’s still in the same position, but her hands now rest on Quinn’s waist and that tops off Quinn’s confidence. She dips her head back down and leisurely licks the salt off Rachel’s skin, taking her time before dumping the tequila into her mouth. When she moves for the lime, Rachel’s hand ascends from Quinn’s hip to the front of her dress and yanks her closer._

_As Quinn chews on the lime, Rachel pushes herself up on her toes so she can press her mouth to Quinn’s ear._

_“You want to get out of here and do something dramatic?”_

_“I’m drunk in Vegas, so... yeah, I really do,” Quinn replies, trying not to choke as Rachel’s breasts press against her own._

* * *

“That’s not when we went to the chapel, is it?” Quinn hopes it’s not, because it doesn’t sound at all romantic and getting married for dramatic effect isn’t really on her list of reasons to avoid annulment.

Rachel shakes her head, then leans forward to give an address to the driver. When she settles back into the seat, she rests her hand on Quinn’s bare knee and traces patterns with her fingers while she continues her recollection of the previous night.

* * *

_“You really want to?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You’re sure? Because if we do this, there’s no turning back.”_

_“You would know. You already made this mistake, once.”_

_“It was youthful indiscretion.”_

_“Teenage rebellion.”_

_“I was trying to find myself.”_

_“Did it help?”_

_“Not really.”_

_“Are we going in or not?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Why do you look so scared?”_

_“I’m just... I need a minute.”_

_“If you have to talk yourself into it, it’s probably a good idea.”_

_“I feel like it’ll hurt.”_

_“Of course it’ll hurt. It’s a needle poking into you a thousand times.”_

_“I don’t do so well with needles.”_

_“Well, how do you do with giant margaritas in the shape of the Eiffel Tower?”_

_“That sounds much more like something I’m prepared to handle.”_

* * *

“So, you’re taking us to the tattoo parlor?”

“No,” Rachel shakes her head and drags her fingers a little higher up Quinn’s thigh.

* * *

_“I bet... I bet you’d be a great wife,” Rachel blurts out, reaching for the giant novelty frozen drink in Quinn’s hands._

_Quinn nearly spits pina colada all over the sidewalk. “What?”_

_“I was just thinking about, you know, earlier... I was going to marry Finn... you were going to marry Finn... and you said he would have been a terrible husband but... I think you’d be a great wife.”_

_“For a while I kind of thought it was my only chance to do... to get... to do anything with my life.”_

_They’re walking around the casino inside of Paris Las Vegas, passing the drink back and forth between them. Quinn can’t even count how many beverages she’s had, in total, since the reunion._

_Rachel shakes her head. “You were always getting out of there... you’re... well, you’re Quinn... you’re Quinn... and you make things happen.”_

_“Are you kidding? You’re the one who made everyone stop and notice you. Singing and... those skirts... ‘nd socks...”_

_“Because I had to. You always had everyone’s attention being Quinn Fabray.”_

_“Bullshit.” Quinn stops, which means Rachel stops, because their arms are looped together. “Most people didn’t even really know me.”_

_“I did. Or... tried to.”_

_“Do you want to know me now?”_

_Rachel takes a lingering sip of their joint beverage.  "Are you asking me out?"_

_"You're the one talking about how great a wife I am."_

_"And I stand by that."_

_There’s an arch of Quinn’s eyebrow. “Is that,” she squints at Rachel, “are you proposing?”_

_“Well, we are in fake Paris under the fake Eiffel Tower... all very romantic”_

_“What if I said yes?”_

_“You’d marry me?”_

_Quinn shrugs. “Maybe you’d be a pretty good wife. Dramatic and not as great as I’ll be, but a close second.”_

_“Quinn Fabray, I would be an amazing wife. You’d be lucky to have me.”_

_“Dramatic,” Quinn repeats._

_“You want dramatic?” Rachel glances at the roulette table to her right. “Let’s... let’s play the odds.”_

_“You’re serious?”_

_“We pick a number. If it hits,” Rachel pokes Quinn in the chest, “marry me.”_

_“This is insane. We just... we aren’t even...” But Quinn doesn’t care. It’s been ten years since high school and she’s spent the majority of that time watching Rachel from afar, following her career, sending her casual Facebook comments, and ignoring the fact that she’s always wanted more. “What number?”_

_Rachel’s immediate response is, “One.”_

_“Do you have some money? You need it to play.”_

_“Hold this,” Rachel pushes the drink into Quinn’s hand so she can dig in the small purse that’s looped over her arm. “Here,” she says, dropping a dollar bill on the table. “It’s for one.”_

_The dealer looks at the dollar, then back at Rachel. “It’s a ten dollar minimum, ma’am.”_

_“Here,” Quinn hands the pina colada back over to Rachel and opens up her own purse. She finds a twenty and places it on the table next to Rachel’s single dollar bill. “One, please.”_

_“Cash play on one!” the dealer calls out. The pit boss nods. “Good luck.”_

_The wheel spins and the ball bounces along, but Quinn can’t watch. All she can do is look at Rachel. Is this a terrible idea? Does she even care? Not really. This is the happiest she’s felt in a long time. Granted, she’s three sheets to the fucking wind, but maybe it’s not all the liquor talking. Rachel’s charm and optimism is infectious and she wants to lose herself in all it._

* * *

They’re back at Paris Las Vegas, which Rachel walking Quinn through the steps of the previous night’s events.

“So, it hit. We won.” Quinn tries to remember if that’s accurate, but it doesn’t seem right, and as she looks at the roulette table, she’s suddenly hit with the image of their twenty-one dollars disappearing in front of them. “We lost.”

“We went this way,” Rachel says, leading Quinn away from the table games.

“Wait, I think I...” It’s a little fuzzy, but Quinn feels a familiarity in the steps they’re taking and when they stop in front of Napoleon’s Piano Bar, she knows exactly what happened next.

* * *

_“When I... when I was... seventeen, I was very into feeling sorry for myself because my life was... it sucked. I’d had a baby. I’d been kicked out of my house. I didn’t know it, yet, but I was totally going to be hit by a truck...” Quinn nods at the audience in front of her. “Yep. True story.” It’s a weeknight, so the piano bar isn’t packed, but there are still a fair amount of patrons in the place and from the look she’s getting from Rachel’s friend across the piano, Quinn feels like she needs to hurry up and turn this thing around, or else her microphone is about to be confiscated and she’s going to be asked to get up from the piano bench. “But that’s... you know... teenage angst shit or something...” Everyone laughs and she’s confident that she’s bought herself enough time to actually do this. “Anyway... when I was seventeen, I used to play this song on the piano, all alone in my house, because I was too caught up in all my crap to actually realize I wanted to sing it to someone in person.” She looks right at Rachel and smiles, “Until right now.”_

* * *

“Hey, it’s the Lily Allen girls!”

Quinn offers a small wave to the bartender and she recalls that he kept calling them the Lily Allen after her rendition of “Who’d Have Known” from the night before fed right into Rachel joining her in a session of several songs by the singer.

* * *

_“These two are pretty incredible together, aren’t they?” asks Tom, Rachel’s friend who’s the one actually employed by the bar to sing and entertain before they crashed his stage. The audience claps and cheers in response._

_Rachel’s arm is looped through Quinn’s and the couple exits the stage, but not without stumbling into each other on the way down the steps. Singing and performing while drunk is easy. Walking, however, is not._

_“Did you mean that song?” Rachel asks, her small body stabilizing itself against Quinn’s as Quinn takes a seat on a barstool._

_“Which one?” But Quinn knows exactly the one she’s talking about._

_“The first one.”_

_“You want to know if I meant the song or if the story I told was about you?”_

_“Wasn’t a story so much as a sentence.”_

_“It was.”_

_“A sentence?”_

_“About you.”_

_“We’re pretty incredible together.”_

_“You still want to get married?”_

* * *

“You said yes,” Quinn says, leaning against the same stool from the night before. “You said yes, then we went to the chapel and got married.”

“No,” Rachel fishes the cherry out of the Shirley Temple she’s been handed by the bartender. “I said yes,” she pulls the cherry into mouth and rolls it over her tongue before popping the stem away. “And then we went to the chapel, but they wouldn’t let us do anything without a license. So you rented one of those electric carts with Spongebob airbushed on it and we drove down the street to the county clerk.”

“They rented it to us when we were that drunk?”

“No--”

“No, they wouldn’t and that’s when I called Brittany,” Quinn remembers. “She drove us there and back.”

“And then we got married.”

“Yeah.” It’s all in place for Quinn, now. Some of the edges are still fuzzy, but the evening is complete. It wasn’t a dare or a joke or an accident. They got married because they wanted to, albeit while under the influence of a great abundance of alcohol.

Rachel’s gaze is fixed on Quinn’s face. “Is that... are you okay with that?”

“I...” Quinn can feel the weight of the surrounding bar pressing in on her and she suddenly feels like she needs to find the nearest exit, out of the casino, to the actual desert air outside. “I... need to go for a while. Um... I’ll see you at Puck’s tonight?”

There’s a small nod from Rachel, though it looks like she’s trying to keep herself from launching into a speech as an attempt to get Quinn to stay. “Yeah, okay.”

When Quinn walks away from Rachel, out of the bar, she keeps her eyes focused forward, following the pathway marked on the carpet that ultimately leads to the doors that lead out onto the Strip.

With her newfound clarity about the wedding and her night with Rachel, she rubs her hand over her eyes and tries to figure out what to do next.

* * *

The party is in full swing when Quinn finally arrives, but Rachel’s nowhere to be found.

Puck greets her with a monster of a hug, which is the same thing he did when he picked her up from the airport a few days ago. “Is it true?” he asks, when he finally releases her. “You and Rachel did the Vegas celebrity wedding thing?”

“It’s not much of a secret, is it?”

“Any pictures?”

“Brittany and Santana kind of defiled our wedding alb--”

“Not of that part. Of the honeymoon.”

“You’re a pig.”

“What? It’s a compliment. You’re both very, very hot--” He relents when Quinn grabs his nipple ring, “Okay. I’m sorry!”

Quinn lets go and pats his cheek. “You’re a pig, but you’re sweet.”

“Booze is in the kitchen and in the backyard.” Puck points in both directions, then toward the room just past Quinn. “And in the living room.”

“Thanks, I’m actually looking--”

“Noah,” Rachel’s voice is suddenly present, from behind an armful of paper grocery bags. “Please be a gentleman and help me with some of this.”

“Is this real food or is this weird vegan shit?” Puck asks, peering into the sacks.

Quinn rolls her eyes at him and grabs one of the bags out of Rachel’s arms. “Kitchen?”

Rachel nods and they both maneuver around either side of Puck, leaving him to answer Sugar’s question about tiny umbrellas for the drinks.

They certainly aren’t standing in silence with the party happening around them, but it’s apparent that neither of them seem to know what to say. Quinn’s willing to make the effort, though, as she watches Rachel set out hummus and raw veggies among the already present spread of hot dogs and barbecue chips.

Before she can get a word out, Santana’s dragging her away to a far corner of the kitchen while Brittany engages Rachel in a conversation about whether or not chickpeas come from chickens.

“Mrs. Berry, I presume?” Santana asks, smirking at Quinn.

“I know you know. Your signature Sharpie artwork is unmistakable.”

“I was going to give Rachel fake boobs but... they’re actually pretty decent given the rest of her disproportionately miniature frame.”

“You pulled me over here to talk crap about my wife?”

“You’re really doing this, then?”

“What if I am?”

“I’m all about you getting your Big O jollies however you want and if that means being married to Lady Frodo, then I’ll call up KC and the Sunshine band for a celebration. But do you really want to spend the rest of your life drinking seaweed smoothies and eating kelp nuggets?”

Quinn glances over at the vegan line-up of snacks that’s now overtaken the entire counter. “Kale chips.”

“Whatever. Is that what you want?”

“I have to go do something.”

She doesn’t wait for Santana’s next comeback and she doesn’t care that Brittany really seems to be involved in what Rachel has to say about the health benefits of hummus. Her arm loops around Rachel’s waist and she guides her out of the kitchen. “Can we talk somewhere?”

“I was talking to--” Rachel knows it’s pointless to argue. “Sure. Where?”

Everywhere in the house seems to be bumping with music or loud with the cheers and chants of people playing beer pong. Everywhere except the bathroom.

Quinn shuts the door behind her, then leans against it. The regular light bulb has been replaced with a colored one, so the room is dimly lit with a blue hue, offset by the flickering LED candle sitting on the back of the toilet.

“Rach...”

Rachel rests against the sink, her hands resting on the counter. “Tomorrow we can go sign everything. Evan already called to get it set up.”

“Rachel,” Quinn pushes herself off the door and steps toward the sink. “I need you to shut up.”

“You said you wanted to t--”

“Stay married to me.”

Quinn’s close enough that Rachel has to tip her head up a little to look her in the eye. “What?”

“Stay married to me,” Quinn repeats.

Rachel’s response is to push Quinn backward until she bumps against the wall behind her. “You left me all alone in that bar today, you know.” Her hands smooth along the sides of Quinn’s dress, the same one she recommended for her that morning (though Quinn’s paired it up with a lightweight cardigan for the evening), then rest on Quinn’s hips. “You walked out of there without any explanation and now you want me to stay married to you?”

“I--”

But Rachel shakes her head. “Before you say anything else, I want you to know that I’m going to need a little more than just a general deman--”

Quinn’s tactic shifts from conversation to something a little less focused on words. Her mouth captures Rachel’s and it’s a matter of seconds until they’re right back up against the sink, Rachel’s right hand gripping the tiled edge of the counter and her left still clinging to Quinn’s waist. Quinn has a handful of Rachel’s hair and her other hand trails up the inside of Rachel’s thigh, under her skirt. Her fingertips make contact with the elastic edge of Rachel’s panties and proceed over to the span of already dampening fabric.

She pulls her mouth away from Rachel’s eager lips and presses a kiss to her neck. “I left because I didn’t know what to say.” Her fingers press a little harder against Rachel, which elicits a light moan from the woman in her embrace. “Because you are so, so incredible. You always have been.” There’s more movement from Quinn’s fingers, which causes more vocal reaction from Rachel, who’s now rocking her hips forward against Quinn’s hand. “And for someone like you to be married to me... I never thought I’d be so lucky.” The underwear is really just an obstacle, at this point, so Quinn pushes the elastic aside and allows her fingers to slide along the sticky wetness that’s genuinely Rachel.

“Quinn...” Rachel hips lift away from the counter, creating more friction against Quinn.

“I left because I’ve been holding on to all of that... everything... since we were dumb high school kids. And I’d convinced myself it couldn’t happen and then it did and when I woke up this morning, there you were, right next to me.” Her thumb shifts upward, putting pressure right where Rachel needs it, because it earns her Rachel’s face pressed against her shoulder, along with another moan. “I needed to think about everything, just by myself. Because it’s one thing to imagine something happening but it’s another thing to know.”

Rachel’s head raises up so she can look at Quinn. “Know what?” she pants, her body rocking with the movements of Quinn’s hand.

“That I love you,” Quinn says, simply.

“I-- oh my god,” Rachel’s head drops back down as she braces herself with the hand that’s still on the counter. Her body jerks and shudders as she comes, while Quinn kisses her jaw and her ear and her neck and anything within reach. She’s barely had time to regain her bearings when Quinn starts talking, again.

“So, Rachel Barbra Berry, would you do me the honor of staying married to me?” Quinn’s hand, the one that hasn’t been buried between Rachel’s legs, disappears into the pocket of her cardigan and when it reappears, it’s clutching a small velvet box.

“Is that...” Rachel takes a deep breath and forces herself to concentrate.

“I told you I would get you another one,” Quinn says, opening the box and taking out the ring inside. “But try to keep this one on your damn finger.”

“This is hardly fair, springing this on me in the afterglow.”

“Did you want me to leave you alone for a while?”

Rachel grabs a handful of Quinn’s dress. “Don’t you dare.” She looks down at the ring Quinn’s sliding on her finger. It’s a much better fit than the one from the wedding chapel. “What if I’d said no?”

“You still haven’t said yes.”

Both of Rachel’s arms rest on Quinn’s shoulders, almost as if they’re planning to slow dance. “Yes,” she says. “I’ll stay married to you.” She tips her chin upward to press her lips to Quinn’s, but not before adding, “I love you, too.”

When they emerge from the bathroom, Santana just shakes her head and mutters, “Newlyweds.”

Brittany shrugs and chases after her, saying something about wanting a pirate wedding.

Quinn squeezes Rachel’s hand and smiles at her. “Can I get you a drink, Mrs. Fabray-Berry?”

“I’d love one. But,” Rachel pulls Quinn closer, “it’s Berry-Fabray.”

“We can talk about this later.” Quinn wraps her arms around her wife. “Maybe when we’re naked.”

“If you’re thinking that this afterglow thing is going to work for you every time--”

“Uh, it seems to work.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I can work with begging.”

“Quinn, there are other people here.”

“Maybe we should go back in the bathroom.”

“That’s not very good party etiquette.”

“Okay, then can we go tell Finn we’re married?”

“Yes. Just... move the chairs, first.”

 


End file.
